


An Angel's Work is Never Done

by Zodiac



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zodiac/pseuds/Zodiac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another day of existence, another pot of coffee set to brew as the Angel turned his attention to the folder on the counter, preparing for what would no-doubt be another several hours of work ahead of him. Or was it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Angel's Work is Never Done

Sanae Hanekoma lazily slipped out from under his sheets, his biological clock having awoken him against his wishes. A large hand reached up to run through his bed hair, nimble fingers breaking any light tangles that may have formed in his short follicles through the course of the night. His lips smacked together and he shook his head slightly to attempt to clear his head of the drowsiness that claimed it, still rubbing at the lightly-matted hair.

Managing to wake up just a tad, the Angel padded over to the main section of his cafe, not caring that he was still only wearing a wrinkled, open work shirt and a pair of slacks that he had slept in. As always, he was too drowsy before his first cup of the day to bother with grinding beans in order to have an entirely fresh batch of coffee, so he simply used the remainder of the ones he had saved from yesterday to make his first few cups of the day.

As he waited for his drink to filter, the barista sighed as he glanced at the all-too manilla folder on the counter. The seemingly-normal object was anything but. Now being both the Producer and Conductor of his Shibuya burrowed him beneath a good deal of work, whether it be from organizing the Reapers from the shadows, dealing with the Players post-Game, or simply performing his duties as an Angel. The daily tasks normally took the form of a dictionary-thick stack of paperwork, which his Composer delivered to him before his awakening every morning within the dreaded cream-colored folder he was now looking at. To be fair, it did look a good deal thinner than it normally did, but that meant nothing. It would probably be some insanely long, difficult assignment that would take days to accomplish.

Sighing once more, the overworked Producer grabbed one of his favorite mugs- a pure white one emblazoned with light blue feathers along the sides- and filled it with his first cup of coffee of the day, one that he would need for the no-doubt mentally-draining task in front of him. The man brought the steaming mug over to the counter with him, opening up the folder to begin his work.

The mug in his hands then promptly slipped from his grasp, clattering to the hard face of the counter, causing the searing liquid within to spill everywhere, staining the pristine whiteness of the paper nestled within the envelope. The Angel simply stared down at the single sheet that he found, focusing on the perfect cursive handwriting in that bright blue, luminescent ink that could only belong to his Composer. Despite the spilled caffeine steadily turning the paper to pulp, the fluid seemed to be repelled from the holy words, letting them remain whole for the barista’s eyes to continue looking at.

Once the initial shock died down, mocha eyes lit up with a happy spark that glowed nearly as bright as the ink he was looking at. He could feel a contagious happiness effusing through his chest, a grin spreading from ear to ear as he took in the one pleasant assignment he had ever gotten that he was all too happy to complete.

“Have coffee with your Composer.”


End file.
